


A Place Reserved

by disapparater



Series: Halloweens [8]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cats, F/M, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/disapparater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco stroke cats and talk ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Place Reserved

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [day eight](http://hd-writers.livejournal.com/259017.html) of hd_writers [Tricks for Treats](http://hd-writers.livejournal.com/253604.html) using all three prompts.

The window is a nice place to sit. When the sun is out it's warm and soothing and when the sun isn't out, it's great for people watching. We were doing the latter. We had decided to sit in the window not long after they went out. For no reason. Sure the sofa was covered in cushions and looked really comfy; sure there was food in the slow cooker, making the kitchen gorgeously warm; we still decided to sit in the window because we wanted to, not because we wanted to see when they were on their way home.

By the time we did see them coming home it was dark out and the window pane our sides were pressed against was cold. We were annoyed we'd had to wait so long for them and expected lots of attention when they came in.

They came from the direction of the giant wheel, and they walked under the bare branches of trees, strung with lanterns that were lit up in the darkness. They looked happy; holding hands and smiling at each other. It made us sick, really. They should be rubbing our bellies.

Eventually we heard the door open and two laughing men come into the house. We didn't move. We carried on staring out of the window as if we didn't care—because we _didn't_. We're not dogs, for fuck's sake.

Soon enough they came running to us. They entered the living room and Blondie instantly lit the fire, which instantly got our attention. We stood and stretched—there was no need to make it seem like we were rushing. Casually we made our way over to the fire where both Blondie and Messy were standing. We wound our way around their legs and meowed a little, trying to act annoyed that they were taking up so much room in front of the fire. They didn't buy it, and Messy leaned down to stroke us while Blondie let us rub black hairs all over his light grey trousers.

“They missed us,” said Messy.

We hadn't.

“We missed you too, you attention-seeking claw-wielding fuzz balls,” said Blondie.

Okay, we'd missed them a little bit.

All of a sudden we were both picked up and carried to the sofa where we were settled on laps. We purred approvingly. It's just a pity we can never get _silent_ attention.

-

I stretched myself out as far as I could over Blondie's lap, stomach and up his chest. I knew no matter how uncomfortable he might get he'd never move me. I ended up nuzzling my face into his armpit and dozing as he slowly stroked me while he chatted with Messy.

“It's nice to be home.” Blondie let out a deep sigh and seemed to deflate even further into the sofa. It made him comfier.

“I think Dom's grateful you're home. If she had the ability, I'm pretty sure she'd be hugging you right now.” A pause. “And don't think I can't see how much that's making you smile.”

“Don't be ridiculous—affectionate cats do not make me smile.” That was a lie. I can make him smile by blinking in his direction. “You're the one with a goofy smile pointed at a cat's arse.”

“I won't deny it. This Halloween has proven far too sweet and not nearly scary enough. Let's tell some ghost stories before bed!”

“What are you, five years old?”

“Oh, come on.”

“You want a ghost story? How about me—I must be a ghost, because I'm sure I died of shock and/or disgust when Pansy announced her Halloween party theme was love because it was her and Percy's anniversary. Urgh.” A shiver went through Blondie and I meowed into his armpit in protest.

“That's not scary. We need a bit of 'double, double, toil and trouble'.”

“We need Macbeth? I thought you wanted ghost stories, not misrepresentations of witches.”

“Yeah, so? Macbeth has ghosts.”

“Not the scene you're quoting—that has witches. If you want a ghostly Macbeth quote, try a simple 'the table's full'.”

“What? That's not scary.”

“Have you even read Macbeth?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Shut up, Harry, and tell me a ghost story.”

That's the last thing I remember before I began dreaming about catnip and chasing birds.

-

I could hear Dom snoring, even from my head's position between Messy's legs. I loved laying like this; spread on my back with my tail flapping at his face. It was optimal for the best belly rubs. It was surprising I could hear anything over my own purring, really. But I could.

“Have you heard the one about the teacher who hadn't realised he'd died and just got up and carried on teaching?”

“I think I did come across that one. Twice a week for several years, in fact.”

“What about the girl who lived in bathrooms spying on people naked?”

“I lived among that one intimately for many years.”

“The poorly executed beheading, leaving a ghost with a very flexible neck?”

“Thankfully I didn't have to experience that quite so frequently, but I did appreciate your pun.”

“I made a pun?”

The belly strokes stopped there and I had to box Messy in the ear with one of my back paws before he'd carry on again.

“So...” Messy carried on as though I hadn't just scratched his ear lobe. “How about the one about the kid whose family appear as ghosts to help him through the most difficult moment in his life?”

Now the rubbing was slowing down, but still nice. Then another hand joined in, linking with Messy's, and it must have been Blondie.

“I've heard that one once or twice before, but it's not scary—it's comforting.”

Then they were both quiet for the longest time. Either that or I fell asleep pretty quickly. Who really knows?

-

When we woke up it was dark, the fire had gone out and we were alone on the sofa. The warm patches Blondie and Messy usually leave behind were cold and we wondered how long we'd been asleep.

Figuring they were up in bed without us and obviously feeling lonely, we made our way upstairs to keep them company.

They were curled around each other in bed and looked so much warmer than the sofa had been. We prowled around the edge of the bed until we found an uneven patch of quilt and swiftly climbed our way up and under.

They barely stirred as we ensconced ourselves in their warm, loving snuggles.


End file.
